You have to get up pretty early to beat an Italian at his own game. I know this. Yet, I tried.
So, one day, after he growled at me for refusing more chicken, I thought I’d address the issue – head on!
“Don’t worry about me,” I tell him. “I’m healthy!”
“You don’t eat anything!” He scolds me. “You want an onion? Garlic? An orange?”
Ahem. “No. You see, Nino,” I patiently explained. “You don’t know how much girls eat, because you only had sons. Girls don’t eat as much as boys.”
(He has problems hearing sometimes, so I raised my voice and repeated…)
“You don’t know how much girls eat. You. only. had. sons!”
(Dang. I’m good!)
“I had a wife, and SHE ate!”
A few days later, he asked me if I need anything from the store.
“I’ll get him this time,” I think. “I’ll confuse him ‘up good’.”
“Yes, actually,” I begin. “I need something for my hair.”
“More shine…more shine….” I say as I toss my hair from side to side.
I look at him, certain I am about to get a startled response.
Without blinking an eye, he said, “Ok. Shine for your hair!”
So, I backtrack.
“No. No. I don’t want anything! It was a joke. A joke. Understand?”
An hour later, he shows up with this.
“Sei pronta a splendere?
You ready for shine???
Nope. You can’t beat an Italian at their own games. You can try. You can play along. But, you won’t win! Trust me on this.